Montreal’s the Stills is a band seeking an identity. Anyone who listened to their promising debut, Logic Will Break Your Heart, and its lesser, intentionally divergent follow-up, Without Feathers, knows that they’re knee-deep in the same sort of crisis plaguing countless other recent up-and-comers. At first, there’s a wave of hype, then the detractors come out to drive home the backlash, and accusations of borderline plagiarism are tossed at them. In an effort to both “find themselves” and prove they’re not copycats, the artists veer in sometimes wild and often ambitious new directions for their sophomore effort. They may claim that it was a maturation process, but I just call it the Brandon Flowers Syndrome.
With their third LP, the Stills return to a sound somewhat closer to their debut, but they also pack it full of big, arena-friendly hooks, swooping guitars and hugely aching vocalizing. Secret Machines did it on Ten Silver Drops; it worked. British Sea Power tried the same with Do You Like Rock Music; it failed. These seemingly conscious efforts for bands on the verge to try graduating to stadium crowds feel excessive and ill-planned—like a math prodigy leaving high school early so he/she can major in philosophy at a state college.
Part of the problem with Oceans Will Rise (and Rock Music, for that matter) is that these experiments with “messiah rock” don’t come naturally from the group’s previously defined mantra. Secret Machines already had John Bonham-styled thunder-fist drums and soaring guitars that could both scorch and freeze. But the Stills don’t seem comfortable as “rawk stars.” The crystallized guitars and churning rhythms may have been glossed over for maximum impact, but it’s still too noisy to find a cozy home on FM. One thing they do have going for them on the road to superstardom: a distressing lack of surprises. Aside from the frenzied drum freakout half-way through “Panic,” the directions the band take are predictable time and time again. It doesn’t help matters that they, like so many other great-all-the-way-to-terrible bands today, proudly display their influences on their collective sleeves.
The harmonious drone of “Don’t Talk Down”’s chorus is reminiscent of the Moody Blues and the Steve Miller Band at their most electro-luminescent. “Snow in California” is An Inconvenient Truth the Pop Song, and one with a similarly loopy sonic arc that hearkens back to the pop-prog spaciness evinced in the aforementioned leadoff (the environmental theme will be revisited a few more times before the end). “Eastern Europe” clearly tries to evoke Spoon and rockin’ Furries, but is too rigidly structured for the loose swagger and effortless “cool” the other two have in spades. “Snakecharming the Masses” meanwhile has an arch-dramatic percussive churn that wouldn’t sound all that out of place at a Blue Man Group show and “I’m with You” might as well be sung by Chris Martin. As for first single, “Being Here,” it opens with a Brian Wilson falsetto and then turns into a U2 anthem by way of Secret Machines’ “Lightning Blue Eyes.” Naturally, “Being Here” is a forgivably guilty pleasure winner if there ever was one.
If the Stills can’t take care of the business of finding a personal and powerful identity, they can still stake a claim at mastering the faux-experimental, vaguely generic rock hit. It may be miles above what mainstream rock radio passes off as modern hits these days (if I never have to hear another Nickelback or Three Doors Down song, I’ll die a happy man), but they don’t really sound like, well, the Stills. Interpol, for all of the group’s obvious inspirations/derivations, sounded like a cohesive unit…and one strong enough to eventually give future bands nearly as many “Interpol-esque” labels as Joy Division and Echo & the Bunnymen did for them when first landing earlier this decade. It always seemed odd that Interpol and the Stills were compared in the past; I didn’t really hear an overt connection then and certainly not now.
But there is hope. For one, not a single one of the twelve tracks is truly bad. Quieter numbers like the ballad, “Everything I Build,” and the intimate, swooning closer, “Statue of Sirens,” break things up nicely. The tightly constructed yet delicately executed “Rooibos/Palm Wine Drunkard” rises and cascades against the cyclic guiding rhythm guitar. Are these any more original than most everything else? For that matter, are they actually better? Not really. After all, “rawk” music is comfort food. Exotic spices can ruin the flavor. At least they avoid the angst-tirades that plague virtually every rock band in the world. They might not be the cleverest lyricists in the world, but I’d sooner listen to an eco-friendly warning over any “booze and drugs ruined my already sucky life” complaint these days.
So while the Stills continue searching for their true and distinctive character, we’re left with slightly better than mediocre material that will keep them just barely afloat. Always listenable but rarely exemplary, Oceans Will Rise offers some catchy tunes, a few sparkling melodies and the occasional inspired moment, but demanding listeners will no doubt be disappointed. Aiming for middle-of-the-road may be what most platinum artists seem to strive for, but it’s not fair to those looking for a little more substance. Once again, we’re left with the promise of a fairly good debut not yet fulfilled. Yet I’m willing to concede that they still deserve the chance to prove themselves even after three albums. They may never be able to fill an arena on their own but their inconsistently solid output still makes them worthier than most that sell them out across the country.
"Oceans Will Rise" is on sale August 19, 2008 from Arts & Crafts.
